“Ho preso questo padre,” Giuliano responded. “Lo prendo al monastero in Assisi.”
Giuliano had Carlo hand his identity card over to him and he opened to the page with a photo and waved it in the air.
“Dummkopf, non posso vedere la carta d’identita.”
Nick had his finger on the second trigger for automatic fire. As the gunboat positioned itself to board, he remained hidden in the dark and first heard the thud of the leather boots of the SS officer above his head, followed by other footsteps. He could make out what was going on through the opening. Nick got the drift of the conversation—the SS officer wearing a tin death head visor cap interrogated Carlo, and then spoke contemptuously to Giuliano about the Italians’ role in the war.
Nick sweated profusely while still gripping the automatic beretta. He had to decide between busting out onto the deck and firing away or waiting for the signal as Giuliano advised. When Nick was just about to break out, inexplicably an excited plea came from one of the crewman on the gunboat. The only words that Nick understood were partigiani, Venedig and polizei. He heard the gunboat come close by again and then noticed the black boots missing from the deck. The SS officer and two storm troopers had jumped aboard the gunboat, which swiftly swung away from the fishing boat, causing the water to swell over its deck.
When the gunboat turned around to a north position, the SS officer ordered his machine gunner to open fire at the fishing boat and screamed: “Homosexuell priester.” By this time Nick was standing on the deck with the Beretta. The shells from the gunboat flashed across the water hitting the hull and rear deck of the fishing boat, riddling Giuliano, who slumped over the helm, and grazing Carlo’s head as he dropped to the floor. Another burst flew over Nick’s head as he returned the fire. The gunboat closed in to finish the kill when, all of a sudden, it sped away leaving behind a long wake, Nick’s bullets already out of range. Nick figured the SS officer must have got a second emergency call to get back direkt to the canals of Venice. He removed Giuliano to the deck floor, while Carlo, blood staining his brown robe, grabbed the tiller.
“Giuliano is bleeding like crazy,” Nick shouted.
“The first aid kit is under the seat.”
Nick ripped all the gauze from the kit and wrapped Giuliano’s head and chest like a swaddled baby, applying careful pressure to the most visible red traces on Giuliano’s body. “I don’t want another comrade dead on my watch.” Nick glanced at Carlo. “Are you all right steering?”
“I’ve got a good grip.”
“Managgia! Your head’s bleeding too.”
“Just throw me a linen towel.”
“Va bene.” Nick found a clean one and flung it to Carlo, who quickly tied it around his head. “He’s waking up, Carlo.” He pleaded with the fisherman: “Giuliano, stay awake this time, for Christ’s sake.”
“Elevate his head with a blanket, then see if there’s any grappa below,” Carlo called out, as he steadied the boat through the waves that smacked the bow.
Nick found a dusty bottle of grappa and brought it up.
“That SS boat is way out of sight. I think we can make safely it to Ancona.”
Nick poured some into Giuliano’s mouth. The fisherman grasped his hand and then let it go.
“Are you sure you can steer this tub?”
“I won’t get lost. Sono veneziano!”
Nick hoped that alcohol numbed some of Giuliano’s pain, as he knelt down beside the fisherman, praying to St. Francis Assisi. Carlo mouthed a Jewish prayer for healing his father had taught him as a child. The last time Nick had ever done anything religious was when he was an altar boy, assisting the priest at mass in Saints Peter and Paul Church. He swore he could smell the incense while he continued praying over Giuliano’s contorted body. He had prayed for a miracolo, but the blood ran from Giuliano’s nostrils and mouth and his body became rigid. He made the sign of the cross and Carlo said the Kaddish for the dead. Nick covered Giuliano with a blanket. The chilling night air blew away all the clouds and, while Carlo piloted, Nick navigated with his eyes following the path of stars, keeping the North Star at his back, and far off on the horizon due south, on the look out for the pulsating beacon of the Ancona lighthouse.
XIII
The morning of August 4, 1944, a radio war correspondent announced that the Allied Powers had taken Florence and were preparing to battle the German defenses at the Gothic Line further north. While the news spread around Assisi, Nathan drove a camioncino, a three-wheeled truck he borrowed from Padre Esposito, back to the convent. As the vehicle whined its way up the hill, Caterina reiterated the story of how she had convinced Mother Abbess that Rachele was strong enough to leave the cloister for the day.
While Nathan waited at the gate with the engine running, Caterina retrieved Rachele from the circle of nuns who ran the guesthouse. Rachele wore a white peasant blouse and skirt, carrying a mesh string bag over her shoulder that contained the picnic the nuns had prepared. She placed it in the back of the open truck underneath a canvas and squeezed herself into the front compartment after motioning to Caterina to get in first. As Nathan pulled away, the externs waved to Rachelle but he noticed that she didn’t look back.
They stopped in front of Caffè Minerva and got out of the truck.
“Rachele, I want you to have fun today.” She hugged Rachele’s limp body and let her go. “I’m meeting Isabella here, so you two can get know each better. Allora, I don’t like playing chaperone. It makes me feel old.” Caterina laughed alone. “ Va bene?”
“Si, Caterina.”
“I’ll take good care of your friend,” Nathan added.
“It’s a beautiful day, Rachele,” Nathan shouted over the engine, as they chugged along. He turned sideways to look at her. “I found a lovely spot not too far away. There’s a great vista of all the bell towers of Assisi.” She did not speak and sat with her hands in her lap.
After a short drive with a one-way conversation, Nathan pulled into an alcove where a lone picnic table stood, rotted in parts and sunk diagonally into the ground. Rachele set up the table while Nathan pulled a bottle of sangiovese wine out of the leather bag.
“I was lucky to find this bottle. Hope you like red wine.”
Nathan sat down at her side, while she fidgeted over the setting. “Don’t fuss so much. The food looks beautiful by itself. A palette of reds, yellows and earth colors.”
“I just want to get everything right, Nathan.” Rachele stopped arranging. “This is my first time outside the convent walls,” she confided to Nathan as she refolded the napkins.
“Take as long as you want.” Nathan looked at the view up the hill and then opened the bottle of wine. The cork broke off halfway, leaving crumb-like traces all over the table.
“You’re not making things easier for me.” She swept away the debris from the bottle and finished arranging the food while he got the rest of the cork out.
“Looks beautiful, Rachele. Where did you learn how to do this?”
“My parents owned a chinaware shop in Berlin. Our family name, Stein, was etched in gold lettering on the window. Setting up the displays was one of my jobs until I left for university.”
“My father is a printer and my mother, a seamstress.”
“Everything is changed now.” She cried then wiped her eyes. “I don’t know how I can go on. I’ll never see my parents and sisters again.”
“You just got to live in the moment. Take one day at a time.” He saw that she paid no attention to what he said and thought his words were just inept clichés. “Why don’t you eat something? The nuns will be very upset, after all the trouble they went through to …”
“I’m the one who’s upset. Can’t you see? How can I even be here having a picnic with you?”
“Isn’t it good for a young woman to be with someone? You know, share things.”
“I have my friend, Caterina.”
“Yeah, and I have Nick, but I’m not talking about that kind of friendship.”<
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Rachele blushed and turned away.
“Why don’t you have sip of wine?” She shook her head. He filled his glass halfway, drank some and banged it down. “It’s corked.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to have any?”
“We’ll just drink the water. That’s all we need.” Nathan drank some and tittered. “On second thought, I think I’ll drink the wine.”
“You’re confusing me.”
“It’s not so bad. After a while, you get used to it.” He poured some more wine for himself and gulped it. Rachele nibbled at the food.
“You’re not eating much, Nathan. You said you could eat a four-course Italian meal when we found a spot.”
“Maybe it’s the wine.” Nathan filled up the plate and ate a small portion. He tapped his right foot to some errant bird chirps to pass the time. When the birds flew to a neighboring tree, he broke the silence. “You know, you’re perfectly safe now. They can’t hurt you.”
“I feel safe while you’re here.” She put her hand on his for the first time. “But I like it better in the convent.” She took her hand away.
“I understand, Rachele. But at some point, you’re going to have to leave the convent for good. Not just a little outing with me.” Her face looked strained. “It’s not like the nuns don’t care about you … but you’re not one of them.”
“I am too. That’s what they told me to say if anyone asked.”
“You don’t have to make up any stories now.”
“You’re so sure the Nazis won’t come back.”
“Rachele, I don’t have a crystal ball, but it’s just a matter of time before we beat the Germans.”
Rachele got up and ambled over to a sapling where the birds were perched. She shook the trunk and they fluttered away.
“It’s like they were listening to our conversation.”
“They were just talking to each other, just like we’re trying to do. Why don’t you have some of this peach with me? Look, the juice is oozing.” He held the peach up.
“I don’t believe in God.”
“Who said anything about God?”
“How can I be a believer after the Nazis took away my family?” She sat down beside him. “I’m trying to tell you something.”
“I’m sorry, go ahead. I’m glad you even want to talk to me.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever leave those convent walls. The world is too dangerous. Can’t trust anyone outside.”
“What about me? Caterina?”
“Neither of you are going to change this world. You spoke about seeing some horrific things yourself. I don’t even know what I’m talking about.” Rachele wept and Nathan put her head on his shoulder.
“That’s it, Rachele. Cry your eyes out.” She picked her head up and composed herself.
“Are you sure you’re just a friend of Caterina? Did the Mother Abbess send for you?”
“Rachele.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you some kind of psychiatrist? What do you do in the army?”
“I work as a translator and interpreter in Rome.” She looked perplexed and he removed his hand. “It’s called the Counter Intelligence Corps, if that helps.”
“Like I said.”
“Please, Rachele. I interrogate German prisoners of war. Translate intercepted Nazi messages. Seeing you every day is making me lose track of time. So much so, I have already overextended my leave.”
“Will they arrest you?”
“Nah, I always come up with a good story.”
“Forget everything I’ve said. I can’t help it.” Her face turned despondent.
“Everything is okay, Rachele. I wish you would trust me. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” They both picked at the food in silence for a while.
“Help me clear the table. The sisters will be wondering why I’ve been gone so long.”
Nathan cajoled Rachele to take a short hike before returning to the convent. They walked down a narrow path, past an olive grove and reached the main road. She picked a white wildflower on the side of the road and held it in her hand, as they climbed up the hill to the camioncino. Later, they caught up with Caterina at Caffè Minerva.
When the camioncino pulled up to the convent gate, they got out of the truck. An extern nun escorted Rachele inside the guesthouse, while Nathan and Caterina followed. When they reached the restricted area, Nathan said goodbye, but Rachele did not turn around. The cloister door slammed shut, the black, wrought iron lever clanking and sliding into locked position.
After they got back to the monastery of San Damiano, Caterina went into the garden, while Nathan got his art supplies for another lesson. She leaned over the well, staring down the dark hole, and was startled when Nathan came up behind her.
“Making a wish to St. Francis?” Nathan asked. Her face turned white. “I tried it myself, but it doesn’t seem to work.”
“How about I draw the flowers next to the well?”
“Let’s sit in the shade over there, Caterina. It has a better angle.” Nathan set up everything for her. “Remember, it’s all about the chiaroscuro technique.” She started sketching while he peeked over her head and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’re getting good at this.”
She turned her head sideways and he removed his hands.
“You’re just saying that to flatter me.”
“I really mean it.”
“Forse, because I’ve been playing, come si chiama?” She put the graphic pencil down and he sat next to her.
“Matchmaker.”
“Si, that’s it. So how are things going between Rachele and you?”
“It’s strange. Her moods shift into very dark ones. It’s like she’s emotionally shut off from me. I guess I’ve convinced myself that she needs me around.” He looked away.
“Just be very gentle with her.”
“I am a man, you know. I have normal desires.”
“Is that why you touched me before?”
“I’m sorry. I’m stymied by everything.”
“You may be Rachele’s only hope. You’ve got to get my friend through this.”
“That’s a tall order for anyone. It’s not like I’m some kind of savior. I’m just a GI caught up in this whole mess.”
Padre Esposito came running into the garden with Brother Ginepro close behind and called out: “They’re back. Thanks to San Francesco.” Caterina scurried after the monks to the front door with Nathan behind her.
“Madonna!” Caterina exclaimed as Nick limped towards her. She rushed over to him and wept on his shoulder, while Nathan hugged his cousin, who had a confused look on his face until he explained their relationship. Carlo’s face emanated with the joy of finding a family member alive, one whom he had known only from stories and postcards.
Nathan had noticed Nick’s movement over his cousin’s shoulder and called out. “Your limp seems worse. Where’s your cane?”
“I slipped on some steps in Venice.”
“Where’s the fisherman?” asked Nathan as he glanced around the room.
“Giuliano è morto,” Nick blurted out. Padre Esposito made the sign of the cross and Brother Ginepro copied him.
“What happened Nick?”
“An SS kraut killed him for the thrill of it,” Nick said.
“Si, it was awful, Nathan,” Carlo added. “I feel sick to my stomach that Giuliano lost his life to save mine.”
“We met some partigiani when we docked in Ancona,” Nick said. “They took Giuliano away so he could be buried at a family plot outside the city. Carlo and I followed them there, where we met Giuliano’s family. It was very sad to see the wife and children crying. Giuliano’s wife insisted that we should stay overnight with them. The neighbors prepared a dinner in honor of Giuliano. We spoke about his quiet courage and consumed a lot of wine and grappa.”
“I’m very saddened by all of this,” Padre Esposito said, placing a hand on his brow.
“I was never a worldly man. Maybe it is my peasant roots. One day, I decided to dedicate myself to the teachings of Saint Francis. My good friend, Giuliano, may not have been a member of our society, but he lived an exemplary life. Without ever donning our brown robes.” Brother Ginepro nodded his head. “Prego, Fra’ Ginepro. Vai al campanile e suoni le campane sull’ora.” The brother bowed his head, folded his hands in prayer and left.
Padre Esposito went to change into his black vestments so he could say a mass for Giuliano in the chapel. The others paired off in the garden to talk privately, waiting for the friar to call them for the service.
“I tried to stay tranquilla the whole time, Nick,” Caterina said as they sat near the well. “I kept everything inside, but never stopped worrying about you.”
“It was scary as hell, but we made it back,” he said, as Caterina put her arm around him. “Giuliano deserves all the credit.”
“He was a good man. But what happened to your leg? Did those Nazis kick you?” She rubbed her hand across his leg.
“I’m fine, Caterina. I spent too much time cramped on the boat, so I guess my injury is acting up again.”
“You said you slipped on steps.”
“A lot of things happened. I’m just happy to be back.”
“And what about me?”
Distracted by the conversation of Nathan and Carlo, Nick looked the other way. “I thought about you too, baby.” She stared at him until he turned to her and smiled.
Nathan and Carlo continued their discussion sitting on the ledge of one of the arched corridors facing the garden.
“Does your head wound still hurt?”
Carlo brushed his hand along the bandage. “It’s not too bad. Looks worse than it is.”
“Did you hear any news about your family?”
“Those Nazi vermin came and took everyone away. They’re probably all dead by now. What did we ever do to deserve this?”
Nathan’s eyes moistened as he looked at the evening sky. “Just being born Jewish, nothing else.” He put his arm around his cousin and suggested they walk in the garden.
Somewhere in the Stars Page 17